


Bell, 2218, Show Me Going

by greetingsanddefiance



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Based on the Brooklyn 99 episode "Show Me Going", Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-26 00:17:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20034712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greetingsanddefiance/pseuds/greetingsanddefiance
Summary: Bell responds to an active shooter situation. Joan, Sherlock, Tommy and Paige wait.





	Bell, 2218, Show Me Going

**Author's Note:**

> A short fic I whipped out in twenty minutes after watching the Brooklyn 99 episode. I don't know what Marcus's badge number is but I reckon 2218 is a good enough guess.

The radio crackles. 

“There is an active shooter at the Grand New York Hotel in Manhattan. Requesting additional units at the scene.”

A different voice. “ESU en route.”

“Copy that, ESU.”

A flood of responses start coming over the radio. “Miller, 2270, show me going.” 

The dispatcher again. “Miller, I have you going.”

“Quinn, 1317, show me going.”

“Quinn, I have you going.”

“Moore, 7114, show me going.” 

“Moore, I have you going.” 

“Bell, 2218, show me going.” 

Joan’s head snaps up and she meets the captain’s eyes across the room. He nods.

“Bell, I have you going,” the dispatcher responds, and the flood of names and badge numbers rolls onwards. 

“Sherlock, that’s Marcus,” Joan hisses. 

“I’m well aware of his badge number and last name, Watson.” 

She feels cold. “What do we do?”

“Nothing,” answers the captain, who has joined them. “With the exception of those already on the ground, the 11th has been ordered not to respond. We have to sit tight and let Marcus and the rest of the responding officers do their job. Besides, you’re both civilians.” Sensing her dislike of this answer, he adds, “they’ve trained for this, Joan. I can’t promise Marcus will be okay but I can tell you he knows how to handle himself.” 

Joan makes eye contact with Sherlock for a split second before he breaks it to look down at his hands. She knows exactly what he’s thinking. 

Usually they’re glad they’re not cops. 

Right now, neither of them is sure. 

*** 

Twenty minutes later, there has been a single update: there are three shooters, not one, and there have been six civilian casualties so far. No injuries among the police personnel (yet, they all silently fill in). 

The captain and Joan are sitting on the sofa in his office. He’s got his arm around her shoulders and she’s pressed into his side. Sherlock is pacing. 

***   
An hour later, there have been no further updates. 

Paige wheels herself into Tommy’s office an hour and three minutes after Bell’s name and badge number came over the radio. Joan is thankful that she, a former cop, gets it. 

Paige holds one of Tommy’s hands and one of Joan’s and says nothing. She cherishes Marcus as much as any of them. She’s waiting too. Sherlock is beginning to wear a trail along the utilitarian rug. 

*** 

No word at the two hour mark. 

*** 

At two hours forty three minutes, the radio crackles. “Officer down. We need a bus at the Grand New York. Put a rush on it, looks like the bullet might’ve hit an artery in his leg!” 

Joan’s gaze is vacant and hurting. Paige and Tommy each shift closer, sandwiching her more tightly. 

“It’s probably not him,” Paige says quietly. Tommy murmurs assent. Joan makes no sign of having heard except to clutch their hands more tightly. 

Sherlock is still pacing. 

*** 

Three hours, sixteen minutes later: 

“All three shooters are down.” 

Eleven dead, sixteen injured civilians. Two cops dead, five injured. All are being triaged and transported. 

No names yet. 

In the captain’s office, nobody has moved. Tommy and Paige are still holding Joan close, soothing her like a pair of worried parents. Sherlock’s face remains impassive and his pacing so prolonged that he will likely need a new pair of tennis shoes. The rug won’t be the same again. 

*** 

And it’s three hours fifty seven minutes when the elevator dings and spits out an exhausted looking Bree Novacek and Marcus Bell. 

Joan sprints for him, Sherlock a step behind her, and the three collide a few paces outside of the captain’s office. Marcus is already protesting that he can’t breathe when Paige and Tommy join the group hug moments later. 

Marcus sees he’s not getting out of it and shuts up. 

*** 

Later, Novacek has been taken out for drinks by her colleagues and Marcus, Joan, Sherlock, Paige, and Tommy are eating Chinese takeout at the Brownstone. 

Halfway through her mu shu pancake, Joan sets down her fork and looks intently at Marcus. 

“I’m glad you came back,” she says softly. 

“Me too,” he replies, reaching for her hand and squeezing it. 

She squeezes back, and for the first time that day, she smiles.


End file.
